


Evermind

by baranduin



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Interspecies Awkwardness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 17:45:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/713363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baranduin/pseuds/baranduin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frodo encounters Faramir in Edoras after Theoden's funeral. I think this was written for a frodo_slash challenge but I can't remember which one any more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Evermind

**Author's Note:**

> Written around the time TTT was first released.

Frodo stepped through the gate, nodding at the soldiers keeping watch and speaking a soft word of greeting to them. Drawing his cloak tightly around his shoulders to ward off the damp night air, he moved purposefully toward the burial mounds. There was something there that drew him, though he had never met Théoden in life and all he knew of him came from what Merry had said in a halting voice full of love and sorrow. Nevertheless, he wanted to visit the tomb on his own now that everyone had left, if only to get a little peace and quiet. He needed to find a place where he could think and remember without someone pulling at him every minute to make sure he was well and not about to collapse from the effort of--he smiled ruefully to himself--just breathing.

As he drew closer to the green mounds, the tangled nets of Simbelmynë glinting white in the moonlight, a sweet smell greeted him. How odd. He hadn’t noticed it during the day, when Théoden had been taken to his final rest, though perhaps the deceptively fragile blossoms grew fragrant only in the night air. Their scent was light and reminded him of honeysuckle—just as the rounded hillocks sheltering the departed Rohirrim put him in mind of hobbit holes. Bother. Why was his vision going cloudy all of a sudden? 

He dashed his hands across his eyes. Ah, well, there was no one here to see his sentimental reaction to this unexpected reminder of home. He walked on, smiling at the thought of comparing the Shirefolk with the rough but far grander Riders and their great wooden halls. Though Merry _had_ said something about Théoden enjoying the simple stories Merry told him at table, so perhaps it was not so strange.

When Frodo walked around the mound in which Théoden slept, he stopped with a jolt. Ah. He was not the only one seeking solitude, for a man knelt, head bowed, at the entrance to the tomb. His hair shone fallow gold in the light of moon and stars; Frodo knew who it was and grew instantly wary. _Foolish Baggins,_ he thought. _He won’t do anything to you and never really wanted to. He let you go in the end of his own free will. Remember?_

Nonetheless, Frodo turned to leave. Though he wanted to slip away unnoticed, his foot struck a small pile of stones, and his intention went awry.

“Who’s there?”

Frodo stopped and faced Faramir but said nothing as the man straightened, one hand on his sword hilt and the other clenched against his side.

“Frodo? What are you doing here?”

“The same as you, I expect. Looking for a little peace and quiet.” 

The moonlight brought Faramir’s face into clear view when he shifted and settled back on his haunches.

“You’ve been crying,” Frodo said, intrigued but still on his guard, needless though he knew his fears were. He stepped closer and stood before Faramir, inspecting the shining tracks of tears on the man’s face. “Why?”

Faramir touched his hand to his face and then looked at his fingers, rubbing at the moisture with his thumb. “Was I? I didn’t realize …” He looked at Frodo again, frowning though his voice was low and kind. “I don’t know why. The tomb seemed to call to me while I was in the great hall, and just now I was remembering …” Sniffling, he wiped his hand vigorously across his face. “I just needed a little peace and quiet, as you say.”

“Then I shall leave you to it. Beg pardon for disturbing you.”

“No. Please stay. In truth, I am glad you have come. I was thinking on you … among other things.”

Frodo could not help it and did not understand it, but Faramir’s words pleased him. Not that he was about to show it, so he made his voice clipped and nonchalant. “Were you? Why?”

“I found these and thought to give them to you.” Faramir opened his hand. Nestled on his palm were two tiny mushrooms. 

For the first time since he had come upon Faramir, Frodo relaxed a bit and smiled. “Where did you get them? Were they growing here?”

“Yes,” Faramir said with a laugh. “I thought they were perhaps not fitting as adornment to Théoden’s tomb, so I pulled them out of the ground. Perhaps there are more … I have not looked. Peregrin has told me of hobbits’ fondness for mushrooms, though I cannot say I understand why you would eat them willingly.” 

Frodo held out his hand and took them; the mushrooms were warm from Faramir’s palm, and they smelled of good clean earth and green grass. It was not that he wanted to hold a grudge against the man; after all, Faramir had helped him in the end and sped him on his way from Osgiliath. But, oh, shouldn’t he at least maintain his wariness? 

To give himself a little time to harden his heart, Frodo looked about. The passageway to the tomb was dark and shadowed, sprigs of flowering Simbelmynë overhanging the opening. Nodding at the tomb, he asked, “Did you know him?”

Faramir shook his head. “No. I never met him, though Boromir did.”

_Boromir. So like and yet unlike: one tried to take the wretched thing and the other only contemplated it. Still, Faramir might have, almost had._

It came back to Frodo now, the look in Faramir’s eyes when he had come to Frodo in the cave and drawn his sword. Frodo’s heart grew resolute in his recollection, but when he looked into Faramir’s eyes, it fair melted at the sorrow and loss that shadowed them. 

_How much he has lost—father and brother, both gone astray in the same madness._ Casting about for something to break the silence now stretching between them, Frodo plucked one small blossom and said, “Merry told me that the flowers here are said to grow only where the dead sleep, that they honor them and keep them safe.”

He held out the flower to Faramir, who took it and brought it to his face to breathe in its light scent. Frodo saw with dismay that his eyes had filled with tears again though they did not fall.

Faramir said, “In Minas Tirith, we lay our dead to rest in stone tombs, far from the earth. It is just as well. Do you think any flower would bloom on my father’s grave? I do not.”

A wordless murmur was all Frodo could muster though he wished he had something better to offer, some comfort to give.

Faramir took a deep, shuddering breath and spoke again, a crooked smile on his face that had nothing of happiness in it and filled Frodo’s heart with pity. “I thought not. I would not blame you if you wished me dead and burned with my father.”

“No …” Frodo held out his hand, but Faramir did not take it. Indeed, he drew back.

“How could you not wish to see me gone? I know you remember … being bound and thrown about.” His voice sank to a whisper. “How I came on you in the cave when you had no hope of escape. I am sorry.”

Frodo found his voice; even better, he found forgiveness in his heart. “You did your duty in the best way you could. Do you not remember that you aided me in the end? I do. I forgive you.” 

“Do you?” Faramir’s voice was harsh as he tried to master the tears dripping down his face. “I think not. Do you not know I’ve seen how you have done anything not to be in my presence, anything to avoid speaking to me? Even at Aragorn’s coronation when you took the crown from my hands and flinched at my touch.”

“But I do now. Will you not forgive yourself? And your father for what he could not resist? I do.” Frodo leaned close to Faramir and pressed his lips to the man’s cool forehead. “See? I’m not shrinking from your touch now.”

Faramir sighed and leaned against Frodo, dropping his head on Frodo’s shoulder. He wept long and hard while Frodo held him tight and whispered soft words of forgiveness. At length, he straightened up and smiled, and this time the smile reached his tired eyes.

“Thank you,” Faramir said.

Frodo wiped Faramir’s face with the edge of his cloak and smiled back. “You believe me this time?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Shall we go back? Surely the Lady Éowyn will be missing you.”

Faramir’s smile widened. “Yes, I expect she will.”

As Faramir stood, brushing grass from his knees, Frodo looked at the mushrooms still held in his hand. 

Faramir asked, “Shall we look for more? I do not think these two will make much of a meal for a hobbit.”

Laughing, Frodo answered, “You’re right. Barely a mouthful.” 

“Well, then … shall we see if we can find more?”

Frodo looked about—at the tomb’s doorway, at the green mound, at the white Simbelmynë blossoms thick on the ground, and finally at the mushrooms in his hand. “No, I think not.” He knelt and placed them on the ground, pushing them into the soil a little way.

“What …”

“I know it seems odd, but … the mounds here remind me so of home.”

Faramir shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“I know. Did Pippin not tell you of our homes in the Shire?”

Understanding broke on Faramir’s face. “Yes, he said that you live in holes in the ground. He called them … I forget what.”

“Smials. We call them smials. Strange though I know it must seem to you, these mounds remind me much of them. And … well, Merry told me that Théoden liked to hear of the Shire and how we hobbits live there. So …” Frodo’s voice broke a little, and it was his turn for his eyes to blur with tears.

“… so we shall leave him the mushrooms in remembrance of the kinship between Rohan and the Shire. No, Frodo, it is not strange at all. It is a fine thing to do. It makes my heart glad that you thought of it, my friend.”

“And mine as well, Faramir.” After giving the mushrooms a last fond pat, Frodo stood up and brushed soil and bits of grass off his breeches. Speaking quietly of the kindly king they had never known in life, the two friends walked slowly back up the steep hill to Meduseld, the night scent of Simbelmynë following them.


End file.
